


It Suits You

by thewightknight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, Sam Wilson's Birthday Bang 2019, Steve Rogers' Awkward Courtship Attempts, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: Tony liked doing things for people. Jan needed something to do. Steve’s wardrobe was sadly outdated, even though he’d bought it in this millennium. Somehow these three things combined. So now here they all were, being measured and poked and prodded while folks talked about the difference between ‘plum’ and ‘magenta’. Was the new suit worth it? Sam wasn’t sure about his, but when it came to Steve’s new three-piece number, the answer was yes.





	It Suits You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Sam Wilson Birthday Bang. Thanks to[ sarah-the-artiste ](https://sarah-the-artiste.tumblr.com/)for her [amazing art for this fic!](https://sarah-the-artiste.tumblr.com/post/187824142139/happy-samtember-i-was-so-happy-that-the)

Janet Van Dyne terrified Sam, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. Or least, he wasn’t afraid to admit it to Clint as they perched on the roof of a building after an op, as they shared a couple of beers that Clint had picked up someplace Sam didn’t want to know about.

It was all Tony’s fault. He liked to do things for people. He never admitted it. It started out after a press conference, where he’d looked at them all afterwards and declared that they were embarrassing him and they all needed clothes that actually fit them instead of their perfectly serviceable and comfortable clothes that they’d all been wearing for years to press conferences. But Jan (she corrected Sam the first time he called her Janet) was still adjusting to life outside of the Quantum Realm and she used to be a fashion designer and one day she was there in the tower with a measuring tape and a notepad and Sam found himself being poked and prodded as she gave him that Look, the one that seemed to go right through to the center of him, as if she was measuring all the molecules in his small intestines as well as his shoulders and inseam. 

Everyone was subjected to her attentions except Natasha. Jan took one look at her and waved her away. “You don’t need my help,” she’d said and Natasha looked smug. 

The resulting suits were sharp, he had to admit. They were a good-looking bunch, himself included (no false modesty there – he didn’t do that), but the three-piece bit she put Steve in made Sam’s mouth water. He was intimately familiar with all the lines and planes of Steve’s body. How could anyone not be, with the way his uniform clung to all those muscles? Sam had nearly gotten hurt a couple of times when he caught a flash of the blue curve of Steve’s ass during an op. (Steve hadn’t noticed but Natasha had. She hadn’t said anything about it but he knew she was biding her time.) But that suit? That suit did things to Sam, things he didn’t want to examine too closely. 

The suit Jan did for him wasn’t half bad either, he had to admit as he preened in the mirror. His was a deep maroon with a bit of a shine to the material. She’d given him a tie to go with it, colors matching. He didn’t jump out of his skin when she materialized at his elbow but it was a near thing. (Did she really pop up out of nowhere or was she just sneaky?) 

“We need to move a button,” she told him. 

“We do?” he asked, but he didn’t argue as she stripped the coat from him and handed it to one of her assistants. 

“Relax,” she said, so his poker face must be slipping. “I only poked you with a pin that one time.” 

Was she joking? She was smiling, so it must be a joke. She turned her eerie gaze to Steve. “Not bad, Rogers. But we need to talk about the rest of your wardrobe. I’m not letting you out of my sight until it’s all in a museum.” 

Damn, but she was right. “She’s got you there, Cap,” Sam said, and was rewarded with a subtle bird as Steve smoothed down the front of his vest with one finger extended further than the others. 

Clint emerged from the dressing room and Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Hey! How come he gets to wear a turtleneck?” 

“He doesn’t,” Jan said, steel in her voice. “Back in with you, and don’t come out until everything you’ve got on has buttons!”

“Even my underwear?” Clint quipped, then ducked back in when Jan threatened to throw her tape measure at him. 

“Is he always trouble?” she asked. “No, don’t bother. I already know the answer.” 

“You look good in that suit, Sam,” Steve said, and Sam stood a bit taller, trying to not be obvious about how pleased the statement made him. Steve, being Steve, kept talking when he should have left it at that. That was part of his charm. “Not you look good because of the suit,” he continued. “You’d look good without it too.” 

The realization of the double entendre hit him as soon as the words left his mouth and he stammered and flushed.

“Is he always this smooth?” Jan asked and Sam grinned before he forgot she was terrifying. 

He wished he’d had his phone out so he could have recorded Steve’s face when he clued into how his words could be taken; Captain Adorkable strikes again. While Steve tried to clarify what they all knew he meant and dug himself deeper and deeper into a hole, Jan circled him, one arm crossed over her chest, other hand on her chin. “Hmm. Needs something, don’t you think?” 

“Are you asking me?” Sam said. He thought Steve looked fine – perfect, in fact. More perfect than usual, even, as the suit enhanced his natural perfection. Jan did good work. 

“I know!” she said. “I’ve got just the thing.”

She’d brought a huge rolling suitcase that opened up into a bunch of little expanding drawers, full of boxes and scissors and pincushions and chalk and fabric swatches (and Sam was proud of himself for knowing what a swatch was). 

“There we go!” She’d pulled out one swatch and folded it into a triangle, then stuffed it in the front pocket of Steve’s suit. “Okay, Rogers, you’re set.” Her assistant came back with Sam’s coat and she held it out to him. “Let’s see how this fits now, Sam.” 

“How come he’s Rogers and I’m Sam?” he asked as the assistant held the coat for him while he slid his arms through the sleeves. 

“Because he doesn’t act like I’m about to eat him, so I don’t have to try to put him at ease,” Jan said and Sam froze, coat hanging off his shoulders. “Sorry. I should have phrased that a bit more tactfully. I’m still adjusting after, well, you know.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize. Sometimes I feel like I’m about eat myself.” He tried to come up with a response while she buttoned the coat and stepped back. “There. Perfect.” And she was off before he could say anything else, now focused on Bruce, who looked like he’d rather be back in his safe cell in the helicarrier. “Come on, Bruce. I will not tailor a suit for a perpetual slouch. Spine straight, shoulders back! There you go!” 

Bruce’s suit was not green, which Sam thought was a missed opportunity. Jan had gone for a different color for their shy, self-effacing partner, a dark purple Jan called ‘eggplant’. When Clint had found out he wasn’t getting a purple suit too he’d pouted. Sam would bet that he’d manage to get hold of a scrap of purple silk on the excuse of ‘pocket square’, but he knew no one would bet against him on that. 

By the end of the day, Jan had shouted out “Wilson” twice at him, once when he’d tried to sneak off and again when he started to sit, forgetting he had pins in him still. She seemed more relaxed when they called it a day, more at ease in her own skin. Tony’d done good. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

They all thought the suits would be the end of it. They should have known better. Things on hangers began appearing in all their closets. None of their own clothing disappeared; that would have caused a riot. But tailored shirts with buttons, slacks with hems that broke over the shiny new shoes that also appeared – bit by bit the clothes kept creeping in. There were several new coats in Sam’s closet too, including a stylish windbreaker and a long coat made from wool so fine that he was scared his fingers might snag it. 

Steve’s plaid short sleeved shirts didn’t vanish, to Sam’s eternal sadness, but more of the button shirts had materialized in his closet as well, tailored to fit his impossible shoulder-waist ratio. The buttons strained when Steve stretched,, but held fast. Whether or not that was a good thing was up for debate. No new, larger white t-shirts made an appearance on Steve’s torso. If they had, Sam would have rioted. 

He had to check to see if his new slacks clung to his ass the way Steve’s did. Natasha caught him twisting in front of a mirror and left the room with a smirk on her face. 

“Not a word!” he called out after her. He didn’t expect a response, which was good, because he didn’t get one. 

Several hours, when he was trying to relax with some mindless video game destruction, Clint popped into the room. “So, Sam, tell me the truth. Do these pants make my ass look big too?” he asked. 

“Too?” Sam said. _ “Too?!” _ he repeated, before throwing a pillow. 

Clint ducked and ran out of the room, trailing laughter behind him. 

How he missed that Steve had come into the room during that exchange, he didn’t know, but there he was, the biggest Dorito in the world. Steve stood there in his tight white t-shirt and those khaki pants that should be outlawed, looking at Sam with that expression on his face, the one he got where he was deciding whether he should say something or not. 

“You do _ not _ need to tell me my ass isn’t big, Rogers, so stop holding the building up and come help me smash some shit.” 

That had been a bad idea with a capital _ I _, Sam realized, when Steve sat down next to him on the sofa. He loaded up multiplayer and dove into the game, trying to distract himself. It didn’t work. Not when Steve leaned into him, bumping shoulders, as they battled their way through hordes of aliens. Not when Steve clapped him on the shoulder when they cleared the level. 

And especially not when Steve said in all innocence, “Your new slacks look good, Sam. Don’t listen to Clint,” while they were waiting for the next level to load. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

All the Avengers made appearances at the Maria Stark Foundation banquet. They didn’t have to, and truth be told, they didn’t want to either. If they asked, Tony would have let them out of it, but he would also have given them that Look. Like you’d kicked his dog that he didn’t have. None of them had tried it more than once. 

This year, though? Totally worth it, because Jan had talked Steve into a blue velvet tux. 

“He’s a dream, isn’t he?” she asked Sam as she sailed by, and he had to agree, if only to himself. At the same time he felt cheated. 

“Hey!” he called after her. “Why am I in boring old black?” 

“It looks good on you, Sam. Classic.” 

Sam didn’t blush at Steve’s words. Well, he did, but you couldn’t tell in this light. “On the wrong side there, Rogers.” Steve had come up on his right this time. 

“Gotta mix it up sometimes. Keep you on your toes.” Steve grinned at him and he did not melt, but it was a near thing. “Watch my back out there and I’ll watch yours?” 

“You got a deal.” 

Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing server in the hopes that he could distract himself from how the tux highlighted Steve’s blue eyes, he steeled himself as the first senator of the evening descended on them. It didn’t work. Those eyes stared out at him from the selfie that the senator posted to his official Twitter account. Sam downed the champagne too fast and didn’t pick up a new glass right away, even though he wanted to. You had to pace yourself at these things.

He lost Steve within the first hour. Captain America had more practice at this then he did and was in more demand. Mingling, pressing palms, smiling until your face hurt and then smiling some more - Steve had it down. Mr. Smartass said all the right things tonight, too, smooth and suave and charming with everyone, even to the politicians he normally roasted on social media. 

That USO tour must have been something else.

At the end of the evening he found Steve sitting at one of the side bars, tie hanging around his neck, top buttons of his shirt undone. “Now that should be illegal,” Sam muttered. 

“What should?” Steve asked. 

Caught by that damned supersoldier hearing again. He ran through multiple responses as he took the stool next to Steve and settled on, “Canapes. What’s the point? One bite and they’re gone.” 

“We could go grab a burger. There’s that twenty-four-hour place Thor found.” 

“Great. Count me in.” 

They walked, with their shirts unbuttoned and their coats slung over their shoulders. Steve’s hand brushed the back of his while they stood at a corner, waiting for the light to turn, because even at one A.M. in the morning Sam wasn’t going to risk jaywalking, Avenger or no. 

The booths were tiny and their knees brushed as they sat and Steve’s feet bracketed his and this was a bad idea. 

Steve ordered a double with fries and onion rings, as well as a chocolate milkshake. 

“I’ll have the BLT and an iced tea,” Sam told the waitress. Her name tag read Meg. “One of us has to watch his girlish figure.” 

Steve fidgeted with his napkin after the waitress left, starting to say something, then stopping, then starting again, trailing off after “So, Sam ….” 

“So, Steve,” Sam replied, ever helpful. 

“I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you.” 

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at _ all.” _

“I don’t mean it too. I’m not good with stuff like this.” Steve must be stressed, because his Brooklyn was coming out. “It’s just, well, I … I like you.” The words came out in a rush. “I like you a lot. Like, in a ‘more than friends’ way.” 

Sam blinked, then blinked again, the words hanging in the air between them. “Oh. Okay, then. Wow,” he said at last. 

Steve took his reaction the wrong way, from the way his shoulders sagged. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“No, you definitely should have,” Sam hurried to reassure him. 

“Does that mean …?” 

“That I like you too, in a ‘more than friends way’? Yeah, it does.” 

A hint of a smile that pulled at the corners of Steve’s mouth turned into the real thing. “Okay then. Good.” 

Tentatively, Steve reached out, and Sam met him halfway. When the waitress came back, she smile at their interlaced fingers. 

“So, does this mean you won’t smack me if I steal one of your onion rings?” Sam asked as she put their plates in front of them. 

“You’ll just have to try and find out.” 

[ ](https://sarah-the-artiste.tumblr.com/post/187824142139/happy-samtember-i-was-so-happy-that-the)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want to say hi, [check out my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/profile) for where I’m currently hanging out on this here internet thing. If you liked this, please share! Kudos are love and comments are always appreciated.


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